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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25880791">Heart On Your Sleeve</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/venom_for_free/pseuds/venom_for_free'>venom_for_free</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Feels, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, LITERALLY, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, One Shot, Post-Canon, Romance, Viktor tries to help, Yuri hurts himself when nervous</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:49:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25880791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/venom_for_free/pseuds/venom_for_free</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yuri had a problem and Viktor was aware, but that didn't mean he could change anything about it. The situation was clear, and at the same time, completely unresolvable. Yuri was an enigma, and Viktor watched him with the greatest interest because Yuri was never, ever, boring. Even though he struggled to see that himself. Like a kaleidoscope in the sunshine, he kept evolving and turning around himself, sparkling in the brightest colors of the rainbow, if one only knew where to look. But not everything was glitter and gold. Sometimes the lens was fogged, and during those days, it was harder to see the colors. Those were the days when he noticed the behavior Viktor was obsessing over now. Yuri began to scratch himself. </p><p>--<br/>or: When he gets nervous, Yuri scratches himself. Viktor tries to help.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heart On Your Sleeve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asagi/gifts">Asagi</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Yuri had a problem. Yuri had a problem and Viktor was aware, but that didn't mean he could change anything about it. He wished it could be different, but the situation was clear, and at the same time, completely unresolvable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He watched his partner from the sidelines. That was kind of the task of a coach, wasn't it? But Viktor watched him not only to assess his programs, his steps, his spins and jumps, but also to see who Yuri actually was. He wasn't naïve enough to think he knew just because they had been with each other for a while. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuri was an enigma, and Viktor watched him with the greatest interest because Yuri was never, ever, boring. Even though he struggled to see that himself. Like a kaleidoscope in the sunshine, he kept evolving and turning around himself, sparkling in the brightest colors of the rainbow, if one only knew where to look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor kept looking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But not everything was glitter and gold. Sometimes the lens was fogged, and during those days, it was harder to see the colors. Viktor managed. Yuri often didn't. Those were the days when he noticed the behavior Viktor was obsessing over now. Yuri began to scratch himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It started with a light brush of his fingertips over sensitive skin. Then, he would tilt his hand, adding fingernails. Barely, at the start. But Yuri would continue the movement, up and down and up and down and up and down until his entire arm was red and angry. That was usually when Viktor stopped him. But the faint scars on his skin betrayed that it hadn't always been like this. Not always had there been someone to stop him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought alone made Viktor almost as nauseous as watching his fiancé struggle like this. Yuri was too soft for the world. And not because Viktor pitied him. He had, for a while, when he learned more about anxiety and what Yuri went through. But now it was something different. He wanted to help without feeling pity for his partner. Instead, Viktor found happiness in Yuri's softness. He saw a gentleness in the kind heart and the sensitive soul that he missed for most of his life. Yuri was what calmed the itch deep beneath his skin and wrapped around his heart, thawing it in a way Viktor never knew he needed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe Yuri didn't know he needed help, either. So after a few days of watching and trying to understand, Viktor decided on a battle plan. A concept. A way to try and make a difference in the life of the man who made all the difference in Viktor's life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he kept analyzing the situation. When Yuri waited at the side of the rink, watching another skater do something he thought he couldn't, there was the brushing. When he was supposed to speak in public, without a script and some alcohol to loosen his tongue, he would press down his nails. Viktor looked at old competition videos and there, on the benches when the audience got too loud or the flashes too bright, there was the angry scratching. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was grateful for the long costumes taking the brunt of the damage off his skin, but moonlight scars proved they hadn't always been ready to rescue Yuri's sensitive body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But just because Viktor had managed to identify the problem, didn't mean he knew how to handle it now. He could hardly just walk up to Yuri and say </span>
  <em>
    <span>'Don't hurt yourself.'</span>
  </em>
  <span> It was barely new information to him that it was something bad. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe, Viktor pondered, he could get Yuri to talk about it. Because this was one of the problems he couldn't solve on his own, Viktor knew that. Love was able to heal many things, but mental illness couldn't be loved away, and those who tried, would end up failing and getting hurt in the process. It was something they would need to work on. Actively. Together. As a couple, as coach and skater, as friends and soulmates. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor didn't want to confront him about it in a public space. So talking about the damage Yuri was inflicting on his own body in the middle of a rink was out of the question. It made things harder because both a lot of the things he loved, and a lot of the things that stressed him, were situated between the walls of ice castles all over the world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But one afternoon, they cooked together and Yuri wanted to demonstrate a recipe for lasagna he learned in Detroit. When the oven was turned off and he leaned in to reach for the glass dish, the heat made his glasses fog up, the oven mit slipped, and a moment later, there was a loud shattering rattling Viktor's body and Yuri's soul. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Somehow, amazingly, the oven door was still intact, even though it was made of glass, too, and the heavy dish should have smashed right through it. Instead it tumbled to the floor. Viktor considered that a win, something worth celebrating. But Yuri could only stare at the mess of red and beige and translucent, all bleeding into another. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Viktor could stop him, he tugged the mits off and reached in, trying to pull out the shards. The attempt was futile as the glass was shattered into a hundred bits, but it was also dangerous. The food was still almost boiling, the edges cut sharply. When Yuri's hand emerged, it was red in multiple ways. Viktor pulled him back just as he gasped, bits of blood dripping into the unsalvageable mess. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In a split second, Yuri was struggling to breathe. His hand had a few tiny cuts and burn wounds, but it didn't stop him from using it as a weapon against himself. He scratched. Scratched so fast and hard, Viktor struggled to hold him back from breaking more skin as Yuri sobbed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All he could think about was how lucky they were Makkachin was napping in the bedroom, and how he could help his fiancé. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor hugged him and kissed Yuri's face, again and again, squeezing him tight. He figured if pain helped, maybe all he needed was a reminder he was still here, that he was loved, that Viktor had his back. Literally. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So they sat on the floor. The food was cold now and so was Yuri, shaking softly in Viktor's arms. He was like a match, burned bright in one second, and then became cold and dark in the next. Viktor wanted to rekindle the embers in his soul. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Yuri stopped shaking and sagged back against him, lax with exhaustion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Am I allowed to treat your wounds?" Yuri nodded, so Viktor helped him lie down before he got up and grabbed a little medical care box. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a while, he worked silently, first cleaning the wound and then bandaging what needed to be. He would have liked to rinse over the burns, washing away the dead cells that left Yuri with an itching sensation without a doubt, but Viktor was sure he wouldn't manage to make him stand up. And was that important right now? Not as important as Yuri's overall mental health. So Viktor lay down behind him, spooning his lover, now that he was done. They both looked at the masses of tomato sauce and glass, but right now wasn't the time to clean. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right now, Viktor thought, was the time to talk. "Your arm. You always scratch it when you're stressed." Maybe that was a little too blunt. A little too on-the-nose. But Viktor had no idea what he was doing and he tried his best. Yuri sniffled in his arms. Then, he nodded. Good. So he was aware. Viktor could work with that. “Why?” Maybe it was too direct? He hated being unsure how to address Yuri’s struggles. But on the other hand, at least he tried.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. It helps. I guess.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What helps?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The pain.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a while, they simply lay there in silence. Viktor breathed in the unique scent of Yuri’s hair and reveled in the fact that he was allowed to hold his husband in a situation as complex as this one. It wasn’t a given to be allowed proximity when Yuri struggled. “What about the pain helps?” This time, Yuri only shook his head. Shit. Too much. Viktor should have stopped when he was ahead of the game. He squeezed his partner tightly. “Talk to me. About anything.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have stretch marks.” Viktor frowned, momentarily confused. That wasn’t exactly new information for him. And he didn’t see a connection at first, either. But on the floor of the kitchen, staring at lasagna goo, Yuri continued to bare his soul. “I have stretch marks and I can’t control them. They are simply there. And I hate them. There are … many. Because I kept gaining and losing weight, over and over. But even before that, I had some on my thighs and stomach from growing quickly as a teenager.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor was still, listening for once, allowing Yuri to bleed out whatever it was that was poisoning his heart. Instead of talking, he kissed his neck. Silent encouragement to go on, to offer more of himself in return for Viktor’s eternal gratitude and, hopefully, understanding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a moment, it was silent. Not really silent, not as in the absence of all the noises. Viktor noticed the cars outside, the dishwasher behind them, the cooling of the oven eventually clicking off. But he didn’t pay those things any mind. Instead, his focus was entirely on his Yuri. At first, Viktor was unsure when he curled his hand under Yuri’s shirt and traced gentle fingertips over uneven skin, slightly off-colored in contrast to the rest of Yuri’s complexion. Viktor allowed his touch to caress the little bits and pieces that indicated growth in his husband. He didn’t dare say so, but he hoped Yuri understood. He was beautiful. He was perfect the way he was, with the tiger-striped skin on his thighs and the unmarred bits in between and around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure, but Yuri’s inhale sounded shaky. So Viktor tried to draw back, tried giving him space and making him feel secure in his body, but it didn’t work because Yuri followed, hips chasing the caress that was stolen by uncertainty. Once Viktor realized Yuri wanted his touch, fingertips returned, along with lips on the back of Yuri’s neck. Viktor had so much to say. So many things he wanted to whisper into raven hair, but couldn’t because the silence was a blanket now and he wasn’t ready to yank it away. Not without Yuri’s explicit permission. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A day passed by, or maybe a year, or maybe ten minutes, until Yuri spoke again. “My feet are scarred and blistered.” His voice was so rough, so broken already, it took a second for the words to register fully. When they did, Viktor pulled him even closer. He raised his own leg, curled it around Yuri, wrapped him in a full-body hug that was maybe a cocoon and maybe suffocating. He never knew with his lover.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor tugged his sock off. He stretched out his foot, knowing Yuri would see his own scars from blisters and scraped skin. For a moment, all he did was let Yuri look. It wasn’t new. Of course he had seen many skater’s feet already, men and women. They all had. They had seen the rubbed off patches of pain, the bruises kissing hips and thighs and asses. They had seen the bandages and the tape and sometimes, the casts. Beauty truly was pain and dancers knew all about that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Yuri stretched out his hand, reached for Viktor’s foot, held it for a moment before he let go. Viktor pulled his foot back down, but he kept his knee on top of Yuri’s legs, a ghost of the more encasing hug. Yuri sighed and rubbed his face. More silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor watched specks of dust dance against the window they were facing. It settled on the floor, the food, the two skaters. Standstill meant being buried alive by dust until one couldn’t breathe anymore, but sometimes, they needed to breathe and still rest. So he forced himself to relax. To let the tension go he hadn’t known he had been holding. Yuri in his arms copied the motion a moment later. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I twisted my ankle as a child.” Viktor blinked. Had he been asleep? No. They hadn’t been resting that long. He was sure because his body still allowed him to stay on the floor, even though the ache began to creep into his bones with every minute that passed. This time, it was Yuri who raised his leg. His own fingers wandered over the bump above his foot, tracing the bone, outlining like a map where the limp tended to bend under pressure. Snap. In a moment. A career could be over when you fell from physiotherapy into physiotherapy, fixing things as they broke. Some recovered. Some didn’t. Overstretched ligaments. It was so simple, yet so threatening. “I have no scars left. Not on the outside. But once the ankle is sprained and the ligaments overstretched …” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor knew about chronic ankle instability. All skaters probably did. A condition characterized by the recurring giving-way of the outer side of the ankle. One ended up with persistent discomfort, swelling, pain, and tenderness. The death of any skater’s career, really. He understood Yuri’s worries. They all shared them whenever something went wrong. Viktor touched down on the bruised flesh, soothed over old injuries with new love, and hoped it would help to heal. Maybe not the ligament, but Yuri. In a way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My knee got injured, too. Did you know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor knew. He had read up on Yuri once he officially became his coach. Most knee injuries happened during falls. Most were minor. Some pain, a bruise, a small pause. If any. A serious blow could throw out the knee cap, though, making the leg unstable. Yuri had an injured medial collateral ligament, which caused pain on the inside of the knee. It ruined one of his earlier seasons and Viktor still clenched when he thought about the footage. But rest and physiotherapy were sufficient for recovery.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even though the body healed, the fear remained. So Viktor nodded. Because really, what was he supposed to say or do? He couldn’t promise Yuri it would never happen again. It was a danger of the sport and they both knew they were giving the ice the best of them in </span>
  <em>
    <span>every </span>
  </em>
  <span>way. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Viktor kissed Yuri through it. He held him and he pressed him close, and even though he was shit when it came to finding the right words, he at least knew where to touch to make it feel good. Yuri was putty in his arms. Trust, companionship, loyalty. Viktor felt it all oozing out of his lover and he was grateful. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Yuri grabbed his hands and pulled them to the tiny scar above his belly button, then to the one above his pelvis and the one next to his right hip. Viktor had been with him when they took out his appendix. He sat in the waiting room, anxious as time passed because Yuri was gone for too long. Later, Viktor learned they had another, more urgent surgery they needed to squeeze in and that Yuri had been okay. But the time in between was to this day, one of the worst he had to endure. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I scratch,” Yuri started, but then lost himself in the sunset they watched from the floor of their kitchen. Viktor kissed him behind his ear. He could hear Makkachin beginning to whimper from the bedroom. There was no way he would get up now. Not before he heard the end of that sentence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A deep breath. For both of them. The sky burned red and pink and orange and yellow, and Viktor felt himself heat up. Uncertainty. Fear. Passion. Drive. And always, Yuri. His Yuri. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I scratch because I can control it. It’s mine. It’s my pain.” Somehow this felt like the perfect answer and too little at the same time. It explained everything and nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to be in pain.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pain is better than numbness.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What makes you numb?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The feeling of being wrong. Of … not being good enough.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor didn’t know how Yuri managed to admit all of this right now. He wasn’t good when it came to talking and neither was Viktor. But there was his answer and he was grateful. “So you are punishing yourself?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Someone has to.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Viktor knew a </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘no’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t be enough. So he encouraged Yuri to turn. “Do you think I should be punished for dropping food? Because I dropped my baguette last week.” Yuri’s eyes grew wide. He shook his head, looking almost scared by the thought. Makkachin howled from across the hall. It sounded like confirmation. “Then why punish yourself?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t that easy.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And it wasn’t. Viktor knew. But he also knew it was no reason to give up, proclaim it unchangeable and call it a day. He knew he had to make a difference. So he gathered Yuri’s wrists and pulled them to his face, kissing all his fingers, the back of his hands, his palms, and the abused forearms. Then, he smiled at Yuri, and Yuri didn’t look like he understood all of it, but he smiled, too. Just a little bit. “You are enough the way you are.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And maybe, maybe Viktor wouldn’t fix a years-old problem in the middle of a kitchen floor, lying next to glass and tomato sauce and a breathtaking sunset. But maybe, he thought, looking into the glittering eyes of his financé, they took a step in the right direction. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone. I woke up one morning far too early with my brain yelling "HEART ON YOUR SLEEVES" at me. So I figured out the concept it apparently had half-planned for me and wrote this little one-shot. I hope you enjoyed it.</p><blockquote class="userstuff">
  <p>Thank you, as always, to my wonderful editor, and also, to you as the reader.<br/>I'm also on<br/><a href="https://www.tumblr.com/blog/venom-for-free">Tumblr</a><a href="https://www.instagram.com/venom_for_free/">, Instagram</a> or <a href="https://twitter.com/venom_for_free">Twitter</a></p>
</blockquote></blockquote></div></div>
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